Transformed
by Namimakura
Summary: One moment and the world is changed forever. Unfortunately, things are only just beginning. How can Virgil survive? rated for eventual violence and emotional suffering.
1. Chapter 1

Part One Finding the Fork

_It was dark in the alley, and the smell was absolutely nauseating. He tried to hold his breath, calming down his heartbeat as he hid himself in the shadows. There was very little time left and he was desperate to succeed._

_The police sirens blared as the cars themselves sped past the alley. He hugged himself deeper into the shadows, bearing the stench and deciding he definitely needed a shower later. The brick wall dug into his back, clinging to his ragged clothes._

_He wasn't a thief. Not really. He hadn't wanted to resort to this. But he had no choice. The moon peered out from a cloud and he listened closely for activity._

_Was he safe yet? He waited for the sound of Static and Gear's passing but heard nothing. Had they found him? Were they watching even now and just waiting for him to make his move?_

_He wasn't sure. He pulled his coat closer, wincing as it scratched against the brick wall. He kept the object held tightly under his cloak, hidden from sight. He didn't think Static could track it, given the precautions he'd taken, but really, there was no way to know precisely what the limitations were on Static's abilities._

_He stood up slowly, still having heard nothing. He peered out from behind the dumpster, seeing a red sports scar whiz past. There was a couple dining across the street at a cozy café, but they paid him no attention. A pair of young teenage girls were giggling and wandering down the street, backs to him. A few various people were leaving the shops as they closed, moving to enter their cars and probably go home. He could see nothing suspicious, but still, he hesitated._

_This was dangerous, staying in one place. If there was hard target searching, there was the likelihood that eventually, they would come across his alley. However, there was also the dangerous possibility that he would be found in transit. He shrank back into the shadows a bit, until the most of the customers had driven off with their cars, leaving the street nearly deserted. It was late and the street lamps were dim. He crept with care out of the alley, knowing he should strive to look casual, but unable to stop himself from constantly scanning the street for suspicious persons._

_The further he walked down the street, the more he straightened his hunched shoulders. He was beginning to feel more confident at the lack of reaction, believing that he had perhaps finally eluded his pursuers._

_He wanted to break into a run, didn't want to take this slow pace, but he couldn't take the chance of being noticed. Still, he knew that there was very little time left. He had to get back before it was too late._

_He wasn't far now, merely blocks away. He could almost taste the victory. Just a few more blocks home and everything would be all right again…_

_He couldn't help it, he broke into a jog when there were only two blocks left. The streets were organized now, lined with traditional houses, complete with clipped lawns and immaculately trimmed gardens. Some had trees and all had cars parked in the driveways. It was green and dim, given that many of the street lamps were out on the streets, sidewalks only partially illuminated. He raced past them all, trying and failing to maintain a slower, steadier pace on his way to the house._

_Excitement, against all odds, was brimming low and deep inside him and he resisted the urge to shout a little in exultation. He pulled the keys out of his trench coat pocket, unlocking the door as he entered the house._

"_Honey?" he called out in a quiet voice. He knew it was late but she always waited up for him. He especially knew she would have tonight. "Sweetie?"_

_He clicked the door shut behind him._

"_Hello?"_

_~*BREAK*~_

The world spun and spun into the silence, deafening.

Everything seemed to freeze, people held their breath, attention captured and focused on the blood spilling onto the cracked cement floor.

The moment refused to end, and in the silence, the only sound was the dull thud of slowly stopping heartbeats.

Broken glasses, one lens missing, the other cracked in an outward fractal pattern, pieces mixed with the crimson blood.

The small body, broken on the bloodied floor, breathed in one final gasp of air, heart pumped one final time and lay still.

Silent.

The deep quiet of terror before the onset of the breaking storm.

Virgil screamed, the sound shattering the glassy silence. It pulled from the depths of his soul, extolling his angry agony, his grief and fear.

The force of the electric blitzkrieg simultaneously accompanying that sound blew apart the windows and everything glass in a twenty yard radius.

Virgil's sanity seemed to snap and with a final rush of electric energy, he finally freed himself from Hotstreak's firm grip, burning the teen's arms and blasting him into the door behind him.

"I'll kill you! I'll kill you, Whiteout!"

Whiteout smiled, but it was a smile without joy, filled only with a vindictive bitterness. "Fair is fair, Static. A life for a life," he murmured, knowing that Static wouldn't hear, was beyond listening.

Static Shock ran straight off of the rail to reach Whiteout, standing twenty feet below, using the electric current to guide his fall. Whiteout released a white cloud, meeting Static's attack without fear. The electricity struck true, staggering Whiteout to his knees, but the white cloud did its job, muffling the blow.

Static fell into the cloud without hesitation, heading straight for Whiteout's position. His vision, hearing and other senses disappeared, leaving him in a cloud of sensory deprivation—but Static knew Whiteout's location and that the bolt he'd sent would hold the villain in place. He continued forward, fearless, fueled entirely by the fury roiling through his body.

Whiteout stumbled to the side, weakened by the electric surge but determined still to survive and to escape. Static's punch clipped his shoulder, spinning Whiteout's body around with the force of the blow and pummeling that shoulder into the warehouse floor. The cement cracked further, a mini-earthquake shattering the foundations. Whiteout allowed a scream of pain to escape; he knew a bone must cracked, if not broken. He rolled over his good shoulder, landing on his knees.

In the whiteout cloud, it should have been impossible for Static to sense him, but somehow, he homed in on Whiteout's location. Clasping both hands together, Static brought a double fist down on Whiteout's back, collapsing him to the ground once more. Static kicked at the fallen body, feeling nothing, but driven beyond pain into a berserk rage that ignored logic.

Whiteout curled into a ball, feeling each blow with a stutter of electricity behind it shiver through his system. Static kicked into Whiteout's back several times. He succeeded in cracking several ribs before Whiteout flattened and rolled forward, out of Static's reach. Static still kicked forward, flailing his limbs and not knowing whether or not his attacks made contact. Electricity surged around him like an aura covering his skin. His eyes seemed to glow, even in the cloud.

Whiteout rolled to his feet and stared dispassionately at Static's useless rage. He took a few stumbling steps, smoothing his gait with each further step, and snagged a water hose off the floor. He expanded the cloud slightly and turned the nozzle to release the water. He sprayed Static from a nice, safe distance, letting the water react to his aura for several seconds before dropping the cloud so that Static could feel the pain.

Static screamed like a banshee and his skin flared and burned through the water. He sank to his knees and scraped his throat raw with screams. Finally, logic penetrated his berserker status and he turned the edge off his power. He leapt to his feet and charged Whiteout. Instantly, Whiteout turned his cloud back on and dodged the angry charge by stepping to the side and punching him in the face. A split second before the punch, he released the cloud—so Static could feel the pain—and turned it back on two or three seconds after. He hooked a foot around Static's ankle and shoved the teen superhero backwards to the floor.

Whiteout kicked him several times, making sure to hit his face at least once. Static was still twitching and attempting to move, but without the sense of touch, it was impossible to reorient himself. Whiteout laughed mockingly at the child on the floor.

"This is punishment for what you've done and what you've caused," he whispered. It didn't matter that Static couldn't hear, the words still needed to be said.

Abruptly, he turned off the cloud, in response to the faint, acrid smell of smoke.

During his fight with Static, who was currently vomiting blood and attempting to get to his feet, Hotstreak had apparently torched Whiteout's minions in a rage and set the warehouse on fire. Whiteout decided it was time to leave. He had accomplished what he came for and it was time to take the prize. Grasping Static's hair, he kneed him in the stomach then gave a final punch in the face, knocking him to the ground again.

Hotstreak was already on the ground floor and was rushing towards them at a dead run.

Whiteout laughed grimly, but with amusement. "Come, rescue your precious hero, Hotstreak. There's nothing more I need from him." He turned and sprinted—as much as he was able—to the body lying on the floor. He hoisted the body of the blond teen to his shoulders headed past the flames.

"Whiteout!" Hotstreak shouted at him. "This isn't over yet!"

Whiteout turned back slightly to see Hotstreak standing not so far away, hands aflame. "You think you're ready to face me boy? I'm almost killed two of you today. What makes you think one of you can touch me?"

"Cuz all I have to do is set you on fire!" He flared the flames, taking several slow steps forward.

Whiteout laughed. "I think your friend there gives you a much greater vulnerability, seeing as he's already half-dead. Perhaps you should focus on saving his life rather than getting him killed. But if you really want me to kill him, don't think I'll complain."

Hotstreak howled in frustration and shot the flames in streaks at Whiteout.

Whiteout did some swift dodges while pulling the handy grenade in his pocket and tossing towards Static. "Always carry useful weapons not power related." Whiteout smiled without pleasure. He turned to exit the building, getting into the car waiting just outside.

This time, he did smile with pleasure as the car pulled out, building exploding behind him. His success here had been unparalleled.

He had the body. Step Two of the Plan was ready to begin.

* * *

Author's Note: If you're all wondering who Whiteout is... well, you'll see. If you're also wondering how this is about virgil and richie when richie just died.... well, you'll see about that too. Also, I haven't exactly decided whether to make this slashy. I mean it probably will be, but I'll be honest, it won't be that graphic cuz for some reason, vxr yaoi makes me just a bit squicky. Anyway, I'm the kinda person who likes to start in the middle and work backwards and forwards at the same time. so, eventually, you'll figure out how we got to this point and by then it'll be time for part two (which believe me, you won't see coming). however, it's part three that i'm /really/ looking forward to. here's hoping both you and i stick around long enough to get there. thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Well, unsurprisingly, this took longer than expected. However, I have good reasons! I work seven days a week. *groan*. no worries, this will end as the summer ends and i'll be switching to normal schedule and will therefore be able to write. I'm really really excited about the direction of this story and i have friends nagging me to write, so hopefully i'll grow more consistent. i'll also update utter chaos at some point (i've got five pages and i'm not sure the chapter's half-done yet, whimpers). anyway, there's a lot to cover here, so if you have questions let me know. i hope you enjoy and maybe give me some of your reaction.

also. it's fun to torture poor virgil.

* * *

Virgil stood silent in the cemetery. The sun shone brightly—not a cloud in the sky.

Virgil felt as if the weather was mocking him with its cheeriness.

He was sweating in his black suit and tie, but he still refused to move. The preacher droned on and even though his father and sister stood beside him, he felt alone. Despite the heat, he felt cold. A fly buzzed near his ear, but Virgil simply ignored it.

The sweat dripped drop by irritating drop down his forehead and through his chunks of hair. Still, he didn't move, knowing that even small movements caused his bandages to chafe under his clothes. Honestly, he wasn't even listening. He wasn't talking either and he didn't plan to. Sharon had been a bit disappointed, but his dad understood.

There was too much hate, too much rage for him to grieve. His dad suspected that with time, Virgil would talk about it and release some of those feelings, but Virgil seriously doubted it. He looked across at Hotstreak, who was actually dressed in a suit for the occasion. Hotstreak had the same fired determination in his eyes, though Virgil know it wasn't as strong as his own feeling on the matter.

The only other people present were Richie's parents, Daisy, Frieda and Bruce Wayne as a representative of the Justice League. It seemed wrong that the only attendants to Gear's funeral would be close family and friends. But only those who knew Richie's secret identity (or didn't, really) could come to his funeral. Otherwise, it'd be a dead giveaway what Static's secret identity was. Virgil wasn't certain he cared, but perhaps vengeance would be easier this way.

There was no body to bury, but Richie's parents knew the truth. Well, they didn't know about Gear, but Virgil had told them as much as he could. As much as was bearable.

A fine, nearly invisible shimmer of electricity skimmed over the surface of Virgil's body. It was getting harder and harder to control his electric abilities ever since—ever since then. He wasn't entirely certain, but it seemed as though his unstable anger was wreaking havoc with the electric fields at the most inopportune times. Luckily, no one was looking at him during the funeral.

The preacher's voice rose higher, more forceful, as he worked his way to the end of the speech.

Virgil had heard almost none of it and didn't feel as if it mattered. All he could think about was that the coffin was empty. He hadn't even been able to bring back the body for Richie's parents—his mother anyway. She'd reported Richie missing to the police and though the police were surprised at how quickly they'd given up on finding their son, they accepted the decision.

Virgil just burned and simmered in the heat.

The preacher finally brought his speech to an end. "Though Richie is gone, we know the place he now rests is safer and better than the path we walk now. His spirit may offer us comfort but we, at least, can take comfort in his joy."

Virgil slowly walked forward, each step a milestone as he reached the front of the crowd. One of the funeral parlor employees handed him a shovel and he took it gratefully. Behind him, Hotstreak selected a shovel as did Virgil's dad. Mr. Foley reached over to take a shovel but Virgil whipped around and held a hand to stop the employee.

"No." His voice was like steel.

"Virgil, Richie was his son," his Pops interjected.

Nothing but contempt filled Virgil's eyes and another skittering of electricity trailed down his skin. "No he wasn't. You were more his father than this man was. This man is _nothing_. He doesn't deserve to even be here. Your son hated you and so do I." Throughout the slew of words, Virgil's voice only grew colder and lower, and only more emphatic.

With each enunciation, Mr. Foley's face turned redder and brighter, gleaming in the sun as a brilliant cherry. "I know I wasn't perfect Hawkins, but I loved my son and I was trying. Despite myself, I _was _trying. Let me bury my own son!"

Virgil merely snarled his lips soundlessly and maintained his outstretched hand.

"I think he means he found your efforts wanting, old man." Hotstreak took a step to stand even with Virgil. "Too little, too _late_."

"Boys. Let him have some peace, here at the end."

Virgil angled his stance to face both his father and Mr. Foley simultaneously. "Always the peacemaker, aren't you Pops? Not this time. This coffin's empty, but that doesn't mean this _scum _has any right to it. For every dirty look he gave me, for a lifetime of depreciating Richie—" his voice broke a little on the name— "for every time he wasn't there for his son and you were. I don't know what made him change but it wasn't enough. Now it'll never _be _enough."

"I don't care what you think, Hawkins, not about this. This is _my son's _funeral and I will be a part of it!"

Virgil wrenched the shovel out of the employee's grip as Mr. Foley made a grab for it. "You gonna have a keep away fight with your son's best friend at his funeral? I don't think even _you _are stupid enough to let this turn into an actual fight." He threw the excess shovel behind him. "And I don't care how long I have to stand here, you are not helping! As far as anyone important here is concerned, you weren't even here!" With each word, Virgil's voice rose another decibel until he was screaming. "Are you just too stupid to realize the truth is that it? He hated you! Hated! And you think you deserve to stand here? Just because you dedicated some sperm and had a few last minute regrets?" Virgil shook his head rapidly, fists clenched painfully tight at his sides. "He hated you and so do I." He turned, nodding to Hotstreak as he gripped his shovel.

Throughout Virgil's outburst, every funereal eye was fixed on the two of them. Mr. Foley seemed to lose his momentum and will to fight as Virgil turned, ignoring him. He slumped as he realized the futility of action and his whole face crumpled. The show of emotion lasted only moments, before the angry mask slid back into place and he turned, signaling his wife and exiting the cemetery.

Virgil let the anger wash over him and drown out his thoughts. He shoveled into the pile of dirt and dumped the chunks onto the empty coffin with a terrifying echo sound. The sweat built along his shoulder blades and beaded down his neck. The bandages chafed against his skin and he used the moment to merely feel, blocking the array of self-recriminations, doubt and hate. Each shovelful, each ache and pain, served to cement his emotions into truth.

Whiteout would not escape him.

_~*BREAK*~_

Sharon sat at the café alone, sipping at her coffee. Adam had just left her, dripping apologies, to run off saving people as an incident had started up down the street. She pondered the last few weeks in silence while pretending to taste the now lukewarm beverage. Ignoring the heat filming the air and the myriad customers scattered at surrounding tables, she thought instead of her little brother.

Virgil had been acting strangely lately. This was nothing terribly unusual, as her brother always acted strangely, especially in such a way as to directly contradict her authority as eldest. Indeed, when adding in the events of Richie's mysterious disappearance and his parents' strange acceptance of it, it shouldn't have even registered on her radar as odd.

The truth was, she was worried about him. Losing his mother and his best friend? As a studied psychology major progressing further a field, it seemed logical to pay more attention to him. She'd never really watched him as much as she did now.

"_Virgil, why are you so angry lately?" she'd asked him._

_He whipped around startlingly quickly to face her and she took a step back at the heat flaring from his eyes. "Me? Angry? Can't think of a single reason for me to be angry." His voice oozed acidic sarcasm almost painfully._

_She folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the kitchen counter while she tried to think of how to break through the wall of irritated bitterness. "Baby bro, I know you're upset about what happened—well, you know, but you can't just—"_

"_Oh you know, do you?" She didn't even notice the way his fingers curled tightly into fists or how they sparkled just a bit in the reflection of dim kitchen lighting. A trickle of harsh laughter escaped before he continued. "You know just how upset I am? I'm sure you know just what it's like to lose someone close to you—like when your boyfriend dumped you or when Adam lied to you. Those things are all very similar."_

"_Virgil, don't—"_

"_Don't you tell me you understand! Don't tell me how to feel about this! You tried to do that to me when Mom died and I won't let you now. You couldn't possibly know—" Virgil cut himself off abruptly, breathing heavily and looking away. "You couldn't." His shoulders slumped and all the fight seemed to go out of him for a moment._

"_Virgil—"_

"_Shut up, Sharon, just shut up." He turned and nearly ran out of the room, yanking the front door shut behind. She couldn't see the bit of moisture that formed, even if briefly, before it slid down his cheek and disappeared._

Well, the words abysmal failure came to mind quite readily.

She took another sip of the coffee as a stranger approached her table. He was tall, standing a bit taller than even Adam, his skin quite dark. His hair was hidden beneath generic brown hat, but the white dreads peaked through the bottom, just topping his shoulders. His beige trench coat attempted to hide his bulky physique, but only served to emphasize it instead. He slipped easily into the chair across from her, coffee in hand.

Sharon gaped as she stared at the man, transfixed by the white mask obscuring his face. He wore basic jeans and a shirt while sporting no facial hair. What kind of guy would randomly walk up to a girl in a café decked out in deliberately nondescript garb but wearing a mask?

"Hello, Sharon." His voice was even, sprinkled with just a hint of evil.

"Uh uh, no way, how do you know who I am? I am too young to have you as a stalker." With each word, she shoved more layers of attitude into her voice until she was waving her head and gesturing to match.

"I'm not a stalker, Sharon. I'm here to tell you that you're very special."

"I'm not a kid to be lured away by strangers and candy. I don't know who you are or what you're talking about, but I'm not sticking around to find out. Weirdo." She stood up as she was speaking, snagging her purse and stomping off with a sway to her hips.

He stood too, half-turning to watch her weave past tables. "Sharon!" He called after her, loudly enough that several customers turned to stare and Sharon herself even glanced backward. "I'll be seeing you." His face remained expressionless.

"Creep!" Sharon stalked off down the street only feeling more and more irritated that Adam had left her there. Well, it wasn't as though it was his fault for being a superhero. She was proud of him for saving people. But he didn't have to keep doing it at the expense of their time together! When he did, stuff like what had happened at the café would happen to her. All those interruptions and the crazies that talk to her.

That hadn't exactly been how she thought she'd end up using her psych degree.

She wondered what the guy had meant—seeing her again. It had definitely sounded bad. She hoped he didn't know more than her first name.

_~*BREAK*~_

_Hotstreak hadn't thought of himself as Francis in a long time. He'd never even really thought of himself as F-stop. F-stop hadn't really been a name anyway—it'd been more of a warning. So it was weird that, all of a sudden, people only ever called him Francis. It irritated him. He _hated _that name._

"_So Francis, you dropped out of high school. You ran away from home. Several incidents of assault, petty theft, vandalism, bullying, gang fighting… The list goes on and on." The officer decked out in uniform blue glanced up from the extensive file set on the desk between them. "I don't think I've ever seen a file this huge from someone not even eighteen yet."_

"_Yeah?" He cracked his knuckles to his palm. "If I had my flames I could help you with that. How does that sound?"_

_The officer, Bates according to the tag over his pocket, flipped the papers down into file and pulled the folder closed. "Do you mind if I ask why you did those things? It is, of course, up to you how you respond, but cooperation can only help you in the long run."_

"_You threatening me? No one threatens Hotstreak." He snarled a little bit at the cop._

_Bates merely raised an eyebrow. "I was merely stating a fact. Cooperation helps you."_

"_Yeah, well, I don't like it." He scratched at his hands absently, wishing he had access to his flames so he could explode his way out of here. It was boring and stupid and there were many more things he could be doing. Like ripping off that little kid down the street from his place. He grinned, thinking maybe he'd do that later once he busted out of this stupid place._

"_Let's skip to the end where you threaten me and either book me or let me go. Either way, I'm out by tomorrow." He loved the fact that he was still under eighteen._

"_Oh no, Francis. I'm certainly not going to make it that easy on you. You've been floating through the system for far too long without being truly dealt with. And so, I'm going to force you through what you hate most—"_

_Francis laughed a little to himself, thinking how little the cop knew of him and what he could take. Prison didn't scare him one bit._

"—_therapy."_


	3. Chapter 3

AN: I am not dead yet! No clue which fic will be updated next, considering all are at such critical chapters. (Those are the ones were I get stuck). Know that I haven't forgotten them at least. Let me know what you think, if in fact, there is anyone still out there...

* * *

Sharon walked into the kitchen to see Virgil and Francis huddled over the table in a way that, for some reason, evoked a vision of bunnies plotting. They were whispering in these agitated voices and she couldn't quite decide if it was just teenagers or if she should be worried. As soon as they realized she was there, the room dropped into silence and their eyes bored into her.

"Well, hello to you too. Way to make a girl feel welcome in her own kitchen." She frowned at them, irritated, and strode over to the pantry.

"Hi Sharon," Virgil said evenly. "We'll just go elsewhere since you need the kitchen so much." He stood abruptly—awkwardly—pushing his chair back from the table and heading out the door.

Francis stood too, moving to follow Virgil. "Nice to see you again Sharon. You know how it is—things to do, places to blow up." He grinned at her and she found herself wondering how much he was joking.

"You're joking, right Francis?" But he was already through the door and following Virgil out the front door. "Hey Francis! I'm talking to you!"

"Quit calling me that! I hate it." Frowning at her, he shut the door in her face and ran off to catch up to her brother.

"Ugh, I hate those two!"

_~*BREAK*~_

"_Hey Virg—?"_

_The teenager in question was perched on a table, brow furrowed and tongue running along his lower lip in concentration. He was watching an array of pencils, screws, hammers and other sundry bits of scrap from around the cluttered gas station float and organize in the air. They seemed to be organized in a strange battle formation—screws and pencils versus everything else from bolts to broken hunks of erasers—and earnestly engaged in the total destruction of its opposite side. Pieces were knocked aside and zinged into battle, pencils behaved like baseball bats and flung allied screws into the dastardly opposing force._

"_Uh, V?" Richie stared at the strange sight for another moment or two, astonishment washing through his face. "V, what _are _you doing?"_

_Virgil jerked suddenly and swerved to face the chalky pale blond hovering behind with a little gasp of surprise. All the pieces of scrap swung with Virgil's movements, flung awkwardly into the room. "Richie! Man, don't sneak up on me like that!" Raising a hand up, he rubbed the back of his head a bit sheepishly._

"_Concentrating so hard on the War of Useless Junk that you totally missed my entrance?" Richie shook his head sadly. "Dude, I totally could have taken you out and you'd never have noticed. What a sad showing for the great Static Shock."_

"_Shut up, Richie, I was practicing." His eyes lit up a bit with excitement. "I'm working on my more fine-tuned control of electrical fields with tiny objects. And I figured hey, why not make it fun too? Pretty cool, right?"_

"_Yeah, V, cool. Cool if you like playing with junk. Why not have an epic battle with more dignified soldiers?"_

_Virgil just shrugged. "Well, these were just lying around. Thought it'd be easier. So, what's up?"_

_Richie froze for a second—almost a deer in the headlights look—before relaxing and glancing around the gas station. "Oh nothing, just thought I'd see what was up in the Abandoned Gas Station of Solitude. You know, fight crime and all the superhero glory." He grinned at Virgil, but it was almost a forced look._

_Virgil let out a sigh and seemed to deflate. "You're still worried about that girl, aren't you?"_

_Richie hunched in on himself and seemed to shrink away. "Well…maybe."_

_Virgil sank into the nearest and least destroyed chair. "Yeah, it still bothers me too. But what else could we have done?"_

_Richie plunked into the chair opposite Virgil. "We could have watched a little longer. Looked him up in the system. Found out he had no record."_

_Virgil waved his hands at him. "How could we have known to do that, Rich?" He sighed again. "Don't get me wrong, I wish we had, but we thought it was just a simple snag and grab."_

"_Yeah, Virg. I know." But his eyes belied his words._

_~*BREAK*~_

Whiteout was watching her again. She was out with her boyfriend again, strolling through the mall and gazing longingly through windows. He could almost see the spittle accumulating at the corners of her mouth. Her body language suggested she was throwing hints at her singing sensation turned superhero date that she wanted him to buy her something in particular, but, like many men, he seemed determined to dismiss her excessive exclamations and conspicuous staring as actual rational behavior. Of course, given her personality, he supposed this wasn't entirely out of context.

They hadn't been there all that long before a group of three teenage girls recognized the boyfriend. The ringleader strode up to him, giggling madly, and asked for an autograph. Her long brown hair shook in waves as she bobbed her head, mouth moving furiously. He supposed she was gushing more than was appropriate, based on the increasingly darkening complexion of Sharon.

Whiteout jerked his head to the side, cracking his neck in impatience. He was ready for the surveillance part of the plan to end, but this was the most fragile aspect of it and he desperately needed the patience. It was a delicate boundary.

Bouncing beeps and rings filled the air as his phone rang. The sound was so common these days that none of the other stragglers even bothered to pay him any mind. Deciding there was nothing further to glean for the day (given the chorus of groupies and incipient temper tantrum), he turned and walked off down the sidewalk. He slipped the phone from his pocket and flipped it open.

"Yes?"

"You were right, sir. The test results are conclusive."

He wasn't sure if it was the heat pounding on his head and shoulders, but he suspected it was excitement sparking through him. "Conclusive." He breathed the word as an answer to prayer and his own unspoken genius. "Good, good. Tell me, were they indicative?"

"We're not certain. We're making progress on reading the genetic patterns and structures, but we need more test subjects for comparison and controls."

Whiteout nodded, already knowing that particular aspect. "But you do have ideas, right? I know we haven't perfected this aspect yet, but there has been _progress_, yes?"

"Oh yes, sir. We definitely have some ideas."

"Good. As soon as we narrow it down, we'll be ready."

"Yes sir."

"I'm coming down to the lab now. I should be there soon." And with that, Whiteout flipped the phone shut. Now several blocks from the mall, he closed the final gap between it and his car.

Anticipation burned low inside him, banked but spreading steadily through his limbs.

~*_BREAK_*~

Virgil, as had become the norm for him, went straight to the Abandoned Gas Station of Solitude directly after school. Crime was on the rise in Dakota, but that just made him all the more determined to match that rise with justice. Looking surreptitiously at the wide streets rather liberally scattered with glass bottles and abandoned wrappers, he slipped into the hideout. Almost immediately, the scent of ash and smoke penetrated his nostrils.

"Hotstreak, I thought you were going to stop skipping classes?" His voice was mildly accusing, but it nearly always was lately.

The punk turned supervillain turned... well, something anyway, was standing in the center of what used to be the main area of the store. A table converted to a desk housed the computer Richie had rigged for monitoring crime and 'justice research', as he called it. Shelves decorated the walls covered and cluttered with various bits of junk, partially completed gadgets and several remaining inventions. Neither Virgil nor Hotstreak had bothered to touch them since the team had been reduced from three to two.

Hotstreak glanced over at Virgil while fire sparked and glowed in his palms. "Hey, what makes you think I skipped? Maybe I just got here before you." He fueled the flames until they swelled, rising, from his hands. The two balls touched gently in the air, melding slowly until the flickering ball was the size of a balloon and gradually expanding further still. Ever so slowly, the ball began to flatten and stretch, ribboning out in opposite directions.

"Because. You never get here before me, remember? My school is closer."

Hotstreak might have turned over a new leaf, but the city wasn't quite ready to trust him yet. He had a special school and more specialized teachers. And an all too frequently used sprinkler system. Virgil was surprised he hadn't been expelled yet.

"Eh, shut up Static. Classes are a waste and you know it. Besides—" abruptly the mass of flames shrank to nothing and went out with a foggy hiss and steam of smoke. Hotstreak waved his hands through it as it slowly started to dissipate. "You and I both know that we've got more important things to do."

Virgil's face had screwed up for a second, features twisting to something that might have been anger before simply dissolving. "Yeah. Yeah, we do." He slumped awkwardly into a beat-up chair near the desk, exhaustion etched in his rigid frame.

Hotstreak's muscles tightened and his face stretched taut. Then the moment passed and he forced his expression into a more relaxed and vaguely mocking one. "C'mon Static. Don't give me that look, or I won't tell you what I found out."

Virgil's face whipped up so fast, a distinct series of cracks could be heard echoing from Virgil's spinal column. The anger was back in his eyes and his pupils looked dilated to black. The lights seemed to flicker oddly for a moment, but it passed so quickly, he might have imagined it. Virgil reached a hand up and started rubbing at his neck in clear irritation. "Stupid..." he muttered. "So, what'd you find out then?"

It was hard to keep the bitter eagerness out of his tone, but the best part about hanging out with Hotstreak was that he didn't have to. The proof was the nearly matching gleam crinkling Hotstreak's eyes.

"Okay, so I did skip class." Hotstreak shrugged past the admission and hurriedly kept talking. Virgil frowned slightly but didn't interrupt. "Remember how we talked about how Whiteout must be someone with a grudge against you? I know we've gone over your past few cases and takedowns over and over lately. I mean, all the bad guys hate you, but this is just too personal. And, well, you know the one we keep coming back to." His face shifted, lips twisting down as if he might apologize, but he didn't.

Virgil nodded unwillingly. He shifted awkwardly in the chair, slumping slightly and listening. He didn't know where this was going, but he hoped there was something new at the end of it.

"So I skipped class and decided to look into it again. I went down to the cemetery where she was buried. Static, _it's him_. It's him!"

Virgil stood up abruptly, electricity pulsing around him. His clothes were hovering in the air, hair standing on end.

"Some the guys working there were talking. The coffin's empty, Static! Virgil, he took her body and he took—" With a suddenness that was almost deafening, Hotstreak shut up. The excited tension in him froze as he waited to see how Virgil would react.

Virgil barely noticed, his mind already racing with the implications. "They were sure? But what does it mean...?" Not waiting for Hotstreak's response, he started pacing, clothes still floating and jacket fanned out in the air.

"No idea."

"I'd think it would be over, that he finished what he started, only why take his body? Why is hers also missing? What is he doing?"

"I don't know, Static. Solving mysteries isn't my thing, you know that. I just got lucky today."

A wry laugh choked out of his throat before dying off. "Yeah, I know that's true. Speaking of which, this is awesome to know for sure, but quit skipping class." He fixed a piercing glare at Hotstreak, who shrugged and turned away.

"Yeah, yeah..." He stared at the floor.

"You promised Hotstreak. School may not seem all that important, but trust me, you'll appreciate it in five years when you're trying to figure out what to do next."

"Aw, shut it Static. Who knew you'd be such a sap? Fine, I'll go to class tomorrow."

"In the meantime, let's sneak out after dark. I'm thinking we should start checking out his old haunts. See if goes back to visit his old job or home, etc."

Hotstreak grinned—a feral presentation. "That's more like it. Let's terrorize this town."

Virgil shook his head—but matched the expression. "Meet you at my place after dinner?"

"Yeah."

They clasped hands in affirmation, each hand overshadowed by flame and energy.


End file.
